Wallace at Bay Read Online Free PDF

false names, as they were certain to be, he would have learnt something from them. He was particularly keen to know where they had been issued. Pushing the suitcases back under the bed, he set to work to search the rest of the room. The minutes passed quickly by, and still he failed to come across a single object that would have helped him to establish the identity of even one of the foreigners. The drawers of the dressing table contained nothing at all; none of the shirts or collars had a name on them. He was about to go into the front room when his eyes settled on a pair of high Russian boots thrown carelessly under the washstand. What innocent looking receptacles they would make, he thought, for anything the men wanted to hide that could not be carried about with them. Immediately he picked up one, finding it astonishingly heavy. Inserting his hand he found himself grasping a heavy automatic pistol. He drew it out and examined it. It had no name on it, but was of German make, a deadly-looking weapon, and was fullyloaded. The other boot contained a similar pistol. At least he had found proof that the owner of the boots was not altogether a simple, guileless individual. Only a man who had sinister designs or was in fear of aggression would possess such weapons. Not expecting to discover to whom the boots belonged, Carter nevertheless turned back the tops and examined them. Then a low cry of exultation escaped from him. An attempt had been made to scratch out certain letters written on each. He carried them under the light and held them close to his eyes. The writing was practically obliterated. On one, only Y and K being visible, but on the other less success had attended the efforts of the owner. Carter was able to read Zan-za-yk – obviously Zanazaryk. He had established the fact that with Pestalozzi was, at least, one of his fellow anarchists.
    He replaced the pistols in their unusual holsters, which he took care were put back under the washstand exactly as he had found them. That done, he switched off the light and left the bedroom; walked along the passage, and entered the apartment overlooking the street. The blinds were down, but, like those of the bedroom, were only flimsy things of linen, through which the light was bound to show. There were no thick curtains to draw across. However, Cartright was on watch. He would be bound to warn him of the approach of the men. Carter switched on the light, and glanced round the room which, though not in as disorderly a condition as the bedroom, was extremely untidy, as well as badly furnished. A large kitbag lying in a corner, under a rug which only partially hid it, immediately drew his eye. At once he was across the room and had removed the covering. A powerful-looking padlock secured the top of the bag, which on inspection, Carter decided would take some time to open –probably far longer than he could afford. He felt several hard substances, the shape of them suggesting, as far as he was able to tell, large revolvers or possibly Mauser automatic pistols.
    ‘They’re well armed,’ he muttered to himself. ‘I wish to goodness I had the time to open that thing and look inside.’
    There was nothing on the kitbag to indicate the name of the owner. After turning it over, he laid it down again, and drew the rug back over it. He then turned his attention to the rest of the room. An overcoat which he seemed to recognise was thrown over the back of a chair. Picking it up and holding it at arms’ length, he decided that it was the one which Pestalozzi had been wearing when he had first come across the man. At first he thought there was nothing in any of the pockets, but on more careful investigation, he found a sticky lump in one. Taking it out he discovered, to his disgust, that it consisted of a half melted sweetmeat of some kind to which were adhering several torn scraps of paper. These he pulled away from the sweet one by one, placing them on the table. They were obviously